


A Bet's a Bet

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: Ineffable Holiday 2020 [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ice Skating, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, ineffable holiday 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27840709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley get caught up watching a man nearly break his neck trying to propose to the love of his life. Aziraphale thinks it's romantic. Crowley thinks it's rubbish.But there could be a chance that Crowley is protesting a little too much.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Holiday 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037904
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108
Collections: Ineffable Holiday 2020





	A Bet's a Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 Day 1 Prompt 'Ice Skating'

“Lydia! Whoops! Sorry ma’am, I … Lydie! Whoa! Can I … can I talk to you a second? Oops! Oh no! Make way! Make way, mate! Sorry, but I can’t stop!”

From the center of the frozen pond, a bubbly brunette turns in shock to stare at the lanky man, careening wildly in half-circles, trying to get to her.

“Nigel?” She laughs nervously. “Wot in the living …?”

“Give me a mo here, will ya?” he pleads, attempting to skate straight but veering to the right. “I’ll be there in a jiff!”

Crowley cringes as he watches the stiff-legged man wrapped like a leftover in wool overcoat, wearing a crisp, blue button-down and jeans underneath, struggle to navigate the choppy sheet of ice in beat-up hockey skates held together by thick, gray tape. Knees wobbly and ankles bent at odd and painful angles, he carries a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a small black box in the other. Crowley puts eyes on it, knows what it is in an instant.

“Typical holiday grandstanding,” he huffs.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Aziraphale beams from the seat beside him on the frosted wood plank that’s usually one of their favorite park benches. 

“Nothing. If you like that sort of thing. Tis the season, I suppose.”

“Grumble all you want, my dear. I find it romantic.”

“Right. ‘t’s going to be even more romantic when he lands on his face and busts his nose.”

Nigel does his best to skate-slash-walk, tripping three times in a row when a toddler, apparently poised to win future Olympic gold, crosses his path. Then again when another nimble figure skater twirls by.

Crowley tsks. “Hundred p says he flies backward, lands on his arse, and cracks his head wide open.” 

“That’s awful!” Aziraphale scolds. 

“Well? Is it a bet or not?”

“Why should I? I have no need for money.”

“How ‘bout dinner then?”

Aziraphale contemplates, bouncing his head back and forth, mildly guilt-ridden at the thought of wagering a meal against the chance that some poor schlub gets a concussion. But his rear is nearly frozen solid, and it  _ is _ getting late. “Alright.”

“Fantastic!” Crowley crosses his arms and settles closer to his angel. “Wanna wager on whether or not she says yes, too?”

“Don’t push it.”

They watch as the man continues to inch his way across the ice almost entirely on his ankles now, the goofiest smile in the world plastered on his rapidly blushing face, risking life and limb to reach the wide-eyed object of his affections staring with mouth agape while her sister holds tight to her arm, giggling like crazy.

“Nige!”

Nigel hits a patch that’s more water than ice, and his left foot goes flying. He stumbles back, his arms windmilling wildly.

“Oh my God! Nige!” Lydia screams. “Stop! You’re going to kill yourself!”

“I need to talk to you!”

“Now!?”

“Yes! Right now!”

“Why?”

“Because ( _ Whoa, shite! _ ) when you figure out what it is you want for the rest of your life ( _ Aaaah! _ ), you want that life to start right away!”

“Awwww!” a gathering crowd of spectators sighs, but Crowley and Aziraphale both pull a similar face.

“Not very original, is it?” Crowley says. 

“I’m afraid not. Quote from a movie, I think.”

“Yes. An  _ American _ movie.”

“Tragic. But …” Aziraphale smiles “… it seems to be working nevertheless.”

And it is. 

Nigel can’t skate to save his life, doesn’t look like he’s ever put on a pair. Lord knows where he got the ones he’s wearing.  _ Out of the bin _ , Crowley thinks bitterly. On the other hand, Lydia and her sister had been skating expertly mere minutes before, obviously one of their passions - a passion Nigel doesn’t share. But Nigel perseveres. 

He’s determined.

He takes a breather, debating getting on his hands and knees and crawling the rest of the way, his ankles throbbing. The small crowd of onlookers start cheering him on, yelling, “Go! Go! Go! Go!” as he repositions the flowers and the box and starts walking again. 

“Lydia Montgomery!” he starts, out of breath and laughing at himself. At ninety percent of the way there, he decides to go for broke. “I love you! I love you more than I have ever loved anyone on this whole entire cesspool of a planet! I can’t …  _ whoa! _ … I can’t imagine waking up another day without you by my side!  _ Aaaah! _ My future looks bleak without you in it! I don’t want that! I don’t want bleak when I’ve had such a grande light in my life! Will you … will you marry me!?”

“Yes! Yes, I will!” Lydia breaks free from her sister and reaches Nigel seconds before his feet fly out from under him. It happens as if in slow motion - Nigel catching air and going horizontal before crashing to the ice on his tail bone. He manages to keep his head elevated and his offerings from being crushed beneath him, but the sound of his body impacting the ice is enough to make the audience exclaim, “Ooooo!” in unison.

But the pain (what there is of it) doesn’t seem to matter to Nigel as he embraces Lydia to an enthusiastic round of applause.

“So this is what we risked our lives saving Earth for?” Crowley grouses. “So these fools can risk their necks on stunts like this?”

“It’s called Free Will, my love,” Aziraphale says definitively. 

"It's rubbish! Using a holiday as celebrated as Christmas to make this kind of show? Seems like cheating, if you ask me."

“She definitely won't forget it," Aziraphale says with a sigh. "You have to admit, it makes things more interesting. In the absence of more exciting things like knights and gladiators.”

“Hmm, the plague.” 

“Besides, why should the stupidity of humans bother you? Doesn’t it make your job easier?”

“After you’ve stared down the literal Lord of Hell in defense of the planet, you start to wish they’d take more care.”

“True, true,” Aziraphale agrees with a nod. “Well, they’re off to live happily ever after. Now - didn’t you say something about dinner?”

“But he fell,” Crowley teases.

“Yes, but he didn’t crack his head open. That was the linchpin.”

“I can fix that,” Crowley mutters under his breath.

“By the way, did you do that? At the last minute? Just to win a wager?”

“Nah. Didn’t need to. Knew he was bound to fall. Besides …” Crowley turns to his angel and grins, sliding a hand over his own right trouser pocket - a pocket carrying a small velvet pouch. It's not a ring box, but he can't fit a box in the pockets of these pants. They'd better get a move on. Everyone they know will be waiting for them at The Ritz already. “When was the last time I tried to weasel out of a dinner date with you?” 


End file.
